


A Hard-Fought Victory

by Maloreiy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Battle, F/M, Fun, Mates, Romance, S&R:CRW, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maloreiy/pseuds/Maloreiy
Summary: The rivalry between Gryffindor Army and Slytherin Army was almost as big as the rivalry between 7th years Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. With the clock ticking down in the race for the Hogwarts Cup, an interesting...complication...will affect the outcome of them both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.

The sounds of battle were drifting farther away. Only a few sharp explosions could be heard, confirming that they were no longer in danger of being discovered. Draco knew that it was second nature for his well-trained army to draw the battle to a less vulnerable position, away from Slytherin’s Totem. The locket lay in its case protected by layers of shining wards, safer every minute the Gryffindors were misled to a new location in the forest.

It wasn’t often he played the position of Keeper, as he was much more suited to heading the squad of Seekers, but they were trying to lay a trap for the foolhardy red team and it had paid off even better than he’d hoped.

Draco turned to his captive and smirked. Her long, curly hair was normally tied back during battle, as it made her an obvious target, but it must have come loose during their skirmish and now settled wildly around her shoulders, clearly identifying her. One of the highest lieutenants of Gryffindor Army, Hermione Granger was always a prime target. It was a poor move on her part to expose herself by coming so close to Slytherin Army’s base, but he assumed they must be desperate.

Slytherin had some of the best wards and concealment charms due to old pureblood magic and secret tricks that had been handed down through the ages. Generations of Malfoys had fought and won on these grounds, so he had a considerable advantage over the Muggle-born who was the first of her family to come to the magical training academy at Hogwarts. Still, it was a well-known fact that she had an uncanny talent for ward breaking, and was the only Gryffindor with enough methodical patience to unravel the intricate spells.

But to send her alone into enemy territory? Foolish. Without her, Gyffindor team had almost no chance of winning. He had only to wait for his Seekers to capture their Totem, or for the clock to run down. Slytherin Army always had the most hits, and without a clear Capture, they would win on points alone. He couldn’t help gloating.

“Granger, how many times have I told you? You shouln’t be out alone without your Beaters. The forest is dangerous, and there’s all kinds of scary, powerful wizards running around out here.”

She glared at his words, but didn’t even do him the courtesy of struggling against the magical ropes that bound her hands and kept her braced against a tree. “You think much too highly of your Army, Malfoy. It took five of you to capture me, a very common ratio of how many snakes are needed to take down one lion.”

He should have cast a _Silencio_ on her to keep from speaking. Sound could not escape the wards, but standard protocol involved silencing captives unless they were being interrogated. It was probably his ego that kept her mouth free. He liked to spar with her in as many ways as possible.

For seven years they’d gone up against each other. Every class, every test, every battle—they fought for dominance in the school. He’d pushed himself to keep pace with the brilliant witch, and what had started as a casual rivalry had intensified on the battlefield and somehow each successive year had pitted them against each other even further. Most people thought his rivalry was with the Gryffindor Captain, Hermione’s best friend Harry Potter, but he knew without a doubt that the motivation that drove him in every battle against the red team was the desire to finally beat Hermione Granger, and wipe that smug look off of her face. Having her at his mercy for the first time had a feeling of triumph bubbling through his veins.

He stalked over to her, breaking another protocol by not stopping at least five feet from her. But he was certain she was well secured, and the proof was her wand in the back pocket of his robes.

He got right into her face, noting the way the brown eyes with their flecks of gold didn’t even flinch at his nearness. If anything, her countenance became more intense and fierce. “You’ve as good as lost, Granger. Slytherin wins today, and then we’re only one more victory from clinching the Cup.”

She scoffed at his bragging and rolled her eyes, obviously used to hearing similar taunts. “My team doesn’t even need me to beat you, Malfoy, but you just lost dozens of points to the hits I scored before you finally captured me. I’ll consider the entire mission a success from those points alone, and well worth the capture.” 

“And what was your mission?”

She smirked at him, an echo of his own usual mannerism, and he couldn’t tell whether she was mocking him or if all the years they’d spent in school had resulted in him rubbing off on her. “Oh, the same as always. Score as many hits as possible. Capture the Totem. Leave Slytherin Army crying to their mums and dads.”

He narrowed his eyes. She sure had a lot of attitude for a prisoner. Why couldn’t she just for once concede that he’d gotten the best of her? “Prepare to lose, Granger,” he sneered.

She just tossed her head and looked up at him, struggling against her bonds to deliver her cutting reply into his face. “I’d tell you to prepare yourself for second-best, but I’m sure you’re well used to the feeling by now, aren’t you Malfoy?”

He didn’t know what made him do it. Maybe it was the desire to feel like he was actually in control. Maybe it was because he wanted to shock her and remind her that she was at his mercy. Maybe. He tried to tell himself that was why.

His lips closed the inches between them and landed on hers, muffling her instant shriek of protest. He just smirked through the kiss, and refused to let up the pressure though she writhed violently against her bonds, trying to free a hand, no doubt to slap him in the face as she’d done once before when his insults had crossed the line.

Interestingly, she tasted like chocolate and cherries. And fury. Before he could stop himself, his tongue peeked out to swipe a better taste, and that was when the thoughts started to fly right out of his head.

She tasted so good! His mouth moved more firmly over hers, his arms automatically coming up to pin her more firmly to the tree. His head was spinning and all he could think of was having more. More, more, he couldn’t possibly get enough of whatever this incredible flavor was. His lips moved over hers, tasting and teasing, and he was lost in the sensation of her soft mouth locked with his.

It was like flying on a broom, like casting a spell for the first time, like passion and power and everything he had ever craved all rolled into one.

For a moment, he left her mouth, the curve of her neck beckoning him to lick and taste. With her head tilted to the side, he heard her gasp in his ear as he nipped the delicate skin under her jaw, and the sound inflamed him even further. She was delicious. She was delectable. She was his. He sucked at the spot, soothing it, reveling in the feeling of her body going weak against his, the sounds of her irregular breathing filling the air, proof of her response to his ministrations.

But he couldn’t bear to be away from her mouth any longer, and with a sigh he sank back into another kiss. She was light and air and he couldn’t get enough. His hands came up to cup her head, caressing the back of her neck, and getting lost in her beautiful, wild hair. He nibbled on her mouth, little purrs of contentment coming from the back of his throat, the game and all his surroundings completely thrown from his mind. The only thing in his entire universe was the witch in his arms.

He didn’t notice when she started kissing him back. It seemed like it had always been and was always meant to be with her tongue twining with his, and her body pressed hard into him. His hands went to wrap around her waist and pull her even closer, because even the tiniest distance between their two bodies was much too far.

And then he felt her mumble something against his lips, the movement sending a flutter of lust through his belly, which quickly turned to surprise when he realized he was flat on his back and completely unable to move. The surprise morphed almost immediately into rage, pure and bold, and he screamed in fury, the sound echoing only inside of his head. He wasn’t furious about being tricked, no. Not even about being bested by a spell, or even the distinct possibility that his army would lose the game. No, he was raging beyond reason for the simple fact that Hermione Granger’s lips were no longer pressed against his, a situation that was completely unbearable.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione moved quickly through the forest, her wand clutched in one hand and the locket clutched in the other. She looked back briefly to see Malfoy’s body lying on the ground, the victim of her _Stupefy_. Then she ran, fast and hard, back to her team, and back to the reality that she knew. A reality where Draco Malfoy, her rival for seven years, didn’t snog the living daylights out of her. And a reality where she didn’t like it quite so much. 

When he had first kissed her, she was irritated, knowing he was doing it just to bug her. She tried to push him away, but with her hands trapped, she didn’t have the leverage. The idea passed through her mind fleetingly that maybe if she distracted him, she could free her hands and she might be able to reach around to grab her wand out of his back pocket.

So she kissed him back, thinking to take him by surprise, but she got far more than she had expected. The kiss turned hot and dark in an instant, her magic suddenly burning through the bonds and freeing her.

Just remembering the intense feelings that roiled through her caused a slippery, tight sensation in her stomach. She slipped a bit on a loose rock, and shaking her head, she tried to push the feelings aside and concentrate on making it back to her team, Slytherin’s Totem and the guarantee of their win swinging as she ran.

But her legs were shaky, and it wasn’t from the exertion. It was definitely from the tingling she still felt from having been pressed up against Draco Malfoy, and having his mouth on hers, and his hands all over her body, and Merlin, his tongue had been on her neck! She thought she might have whimpered. That slippery, hot feeling that trickled down her body almost made her whimper again.

She wanted to go back to him. So help her, but she did. She was pretty sure she wanted to launch herself at him, crawl into his robes and never leave. Her temperature started to spike just thinking about it. What was wrong with her?

So she pushed forward, because she didn’t think even her Gryffindor courage was enough to face whatever had happened back there.

 

* * *

 

The Great Hall was buzzing with the news of Gryffindor’s spectacular win over Slytherin. Though Hogwarts housed four Armies, no one expected Hufflepuff Army or Ravenclaw Army to win the Cup this year. The 7th years were proving to be one of the strongest years to ever pass through Hogwarts’ halls, with incredible magical ability and skill. It was the red and the green team that were neck and neck for the grand prize: the Hogwarts Cup, and the title of ‘Dumbledore’s Army’. The Gryffindors had won for six straight years, and if they won this year, it would be the first time an entire class would be able to say that they had spent their entire school career as Dumbledore’s Army.

The story was already getting passed around about how Hermione had broken from captivity in enemy territory, stupefied the captain, retrieved the Totem and returned to Gryffindor base, single-handedly delivering Draco Malfoy’s greatest defeat. The lower years stared at her in awe as she methodically chewed her food, oblivious to the chatter of her best friends around her.

Hermione’s mind should have been on the recent battle. Her performance had been spectacular. Harry and Ron had lifted her onto their shoulders and paraded her around the Common Room afterwards as she’d laughingly protested that she’d done exactly what she was tasked to do. There had been multiple objectives to her presence there in Slytherin territory. They’d decided someone had to broach the wards from the inside, so they’d needed at least one person to get captured who had the magical ability to break the wards around the Totem and still escape. But they’d also needed to test Hermione’s latest magical breakthrough.

Each Army had a Totem that they protected and the object of each battle was to capture the enemy Totem and return it to your territory. Gryffindor had a sword, the only Army whose Totem was also a weapon. The enemy Totem must be carried into your territory  _and_  the winning declaration of shooting up sparks with your wand must be carried out in full, something Hermione had done the minute she’d reached Gryffindor base. This ensured that the Totem could not accidentally cross enemy lines and end the game; the win must be intentional. The Totem was recognized by a magical signature, and so you could not create a fake Totem to fool the game.

However, Hermione had been working on a project for the last couple of years that allowed for the Totem signature to be removed from the Army Totem and placed on a different object, essentially changing the identity of the Totem. Many had tried, but they had all failed. Still, Hermione was sometimes called the brightest witch of her age, and not for no reason. She’d not only succeeded in removing the magical signature from the sword, but she succeeded in attaching it to a person. A living, breathing, fighting Totem would be much harder to capture. And it could be anyone.

They’d proven, with Hermione’s mission, that the Totem could walk right into the enemy camp, not be recognized, not end the game by their presence in the base, and walk right back out again. Or run, as the case may be. Run, desperately holding onto her wits, after said Totem had just been snogged senseless by the Slytherin Captain who had no idea he’d had the winning Totem literally within his grasp.

Hermione should have been thinking on these things. But she was not. What she was doing was trying not to relive those moments when her surroundings had blanked out and all that had existed was the feel of Draco’s mouth on her skin and the lingering taste of his lips. She blinked rapidly, forcibly pushing the thoughts away for the hundredth time, her hand on her stomach trying to quiet the butterflies that just wouldn’t stop.

She chose that instant to look up and happened to catch the very person she was trying so hard not to think of, staring straight at her, the expression on his face making it clear that he was thinking the same thing, with the same amount of confusion that she was. Her face flamed and she quickly returned to her chewing and very carefully did not look his way again. No one would ever know, she told herself. And it would never, never, not _ever_ happen again. But even as she said the words, her hand quivering as it brought her goblet of pumpkin juice to her mouth, there was a feeling very deep inside her that insisted the words were a lie.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco watched as her face flushed with color, a strangely foreign feeling of satisfaction welling up inside of him, even though she deliberately looked away and refused to glance his way again. He took comfort in the fact that she was aware of him, like he was aware of her.

He should have brooding about how the Gryffindors had won again, and how the chance of Slytherin Army winning the Cup was dwindling with each battle. He should have been furious about how he’d been tricked and left in an embarrassing state on the floor of his own base, the Totem he was supposed to be Keeping conspicuously absent.

Instead, he was watching the curly-headed lioness that, up until today, he’d thought he couldn’t stand. He was watching her mouth as she ate, remembering the sweet taste of her lips, and the feeling of her body, soft and giving. And he was torturing himself with imagining what it would be like to kiss her again. To kiss more of her skin than was visible above the coverage of her robes.

He shouldn’t have been thinking those thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. There was nothing else so tempting as thinking of Hermione Granger in a variety of compromising positions.

He had a pretty good idea why that was. There were some rumors about his family history, something he’d paid little attention to as it had been unlikely to affect him. But the first thing he’d done upon returning from Slytherin’s most painful loss to date, was to immediately owl his parents. They were supposed to be on a trip to Algiers, but he hoped they’d receive his message soon because he needed some very specific information. He had reason to suspect the latent Veela gene in his family had just resurfaced and if that was true, then he was going to need to know everything there was to know about the Veela mating process.

The prospect of going head to head with Hermione Granger in yet another battle, this time one with far higher stakes, had his blood positively tingling.

For several days he waited on word from his parents, and he tried not to cross her path too often. He wasn’t ready to engage her until he had all of his facts straight, as he knew from long experience that she was a formidable foe, and this was one fight he had no intention of losing.

But he hadn’t counted on his uncontrolled Veela instinct taking those rational decisions right out of his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

She rather thought he was snarling, his face was so furious. The poor 5th year scurried away, frightened, but having a healthy sense of self-preservation. He didn’t even look back as he dashed out of the corridor, leaving her to face Malfoy. 

Looking into his eyes—a startlingly intense vision of silver—she fancied she heard a growl coming from his throat as he advanced on her, the nerves in her stomach flip-flopping at the sound. His movements were smooth and deliberate, his robes barely even moving, like a predator stalking his prey, and it never even occurred to her to run. In a flash, he had her trapped against the wall, unable to move, just like the last time.

But this time he didn’t bother taunting her first. A word that sounded vaguely like “Mine” hovered in the air during that brief moment before he started devouring her mouth. Then there was just lips and teeth, and the silky hot feeling of his breath mingling with hers. She didn’t have time to think, time to plan, time to build up the defenses she had carefully crafted for just this moment. All she could do was feel, and she was overwhelmed by anger and passion.

He was rough with her mouth, the firm and insistent pressure forcing her to open to his tongue. He used his teeth to nip at her lips, and spared her no quarter as she was pushed hard against the wall, possessively molding her body to his with his strong hands.

Hermione felt herself trembling. It was exactly like the last time. She didn’t know one person could feel so much without exploding from it. She had intended to fight it, but abruptly, she couldn’t remember why. Why would she ever want to deny herself this incredible pleasure?

His teeth nipped at her jaw, and with a moan in the back of her throat, she gave in, melting against him, no match for the sensual fog that was invading her mind. Of their own accord, her hands climbed up to that impossibly soft platinum hair, and she pulled his mouth to hers, seeking an even closer connection, her hips shifting to entice him to settle closer against her.

And just like that, he changed gears again. His arms softly closed around her waist, wrapping her in warmth. His mouth gentled, as he slowly sucked on her lips, his tongue caressing the inside of her mouth. He kissed the edges of her lips—little, wet, open-mouthed kisses that trailed up to her ear and then softly, lovingly, down the side of her neck. Her head fell backwards, giving him better access, and with his tongue and his lips he nibbled her like a priceless delicacy. Her fingers in his hair tightened as his mouth moved, sending brilliant, simmering sparks up and down her spine with each fluttering touch of his lips, her legs only holding her upright because of the arms wrapped around her.

Something shimmered in Hermione’s mind, like fairy lights. Here was tenderness, affection, reverence such as she had never even dreamed Malfoy was capable of. The fact that it was directed at her caused her heart to stumble an uneven beat in her chest. She was falling, she knew it, and couldn’t even summon the desire to stop it from happening. If there was one thing Hermione Granger knew, it was magic, and this was magic of the truest, brightest, loveliest form. She closed her eyes and sighed, heedless of her surroundings.

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco had seen that stupid 5th year staring at  _his_  mate, intentions obvious in the look of disgusting adoration on his face, he’d nearly lost his temper. His first instinct, a surprise even to him, was to rip out the poor kid’s throat, and dance on his lifeless body. Fortunately, he had enough control remaining for cooler reasoning to prevail, and instead sent at the interloper one of the terrifying frowns that he had spent a lifetime perfecting, a truly and intensely frightening experience. The 5th year ran away, never knowing how close he had come to certain death (or at least vigorous and whole-hearted maiming). If he had even dared to look back, Draco thought he would have launched himself at the kid in a righteous fury. 

But once he was out of view, Draco forgot all about him. Every one of his now-alert senses were trained on the exquisitely enticing sight before him. Hermione, with her delicious, silky skin, and her sensuous hair had her eyes trained on him, unaware of how her pupils were dilating with awareness of him. It made him feel hot and urgent, and all the anger that had nearly consumed him a moment ago was transformed into a desire to possess her that was so strong he couldn’t have held it back if he had tried.

He didn’t bother bringing up the scene with the 5th year, it was completely inconsequential. The only thing that mattered was laying claim to his mate so that she knew she could never stray, and she would never want to.

When he latched his mouth to hers, he was struck again by how easy it was to get lost in the taste of her. Nothing else could taste as good as her mouth, her lips, her skin. Nothing else could feel as good as the soft curves of her body molded against his. In his mind, he knew it was only a matter of time before he felt those curves slicked with heat and sweat, with no restraining clothes to deny him the feel of the flesh that his fingers craved. He could wait, because he knew she was his, but his body trembled in anticipation.

The Veela inside of him screamed for more, and Draco dominated her with his mouth and with his body. He dimly felt what seemed like a roar of triumph when he felt Hermione’s body yield against his, and her mouth start to demand her own pleasure. And with her acquiescence, the Veela was quieted, a feeling of peace and satisfaction like none he had ever felt, flooding through his body.

He nuzzled her, breathing in her intoxicating scent, enfolding her tenderly in his arms. No longer driven by a need to possess, with her willingly in his embrace, he showed her the utter devotion of a Veela toward his mate. He kissed her, he petted her, he tasted her, his heart brimming with the wonder of knowing there was only one Hermione Granger, and she would be his forever.

 

* * *

 

 

The gossip around the school spread like wildfire: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had been caught snogging in the school corridors. And everyone who had been present swore up and down that the temperature of the very air had changed, and more than one of the lower years had fainted, unable to withstand the tension that jolted through all the bystanders.

Professor McGonagall, her normally stern appearance even more stoic, had quickly hurried away the two 7th years with the matching dazed expressions on their faces.

When they’d returned that evening, not a single person in the Great Hall had been brave enough to broach the topic of the earlier incident. But after they’d left—separately, and accompanied by their individual entourages—the buzz of conversation in the hall rose to a fever pitch as student after student proclaimed that they’d always  _known_ , it had been so  _obvious_ , and who wanted to lay galleons on the outcome of the final battle?

The gossip reached Draco’s ears, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about what the school thought about him or about his actions. He was too busy trying to process the information that had been presented to him when McGonagall had taken him and his mate to see Headmaster Dumbledore.

Apparently his parents, having finally received his owl, had immediately notified Dumbledore of the details regarding the Veela heritage in their blood. McGonagall had been on her way to retrieve him when she’d discovered them intertwined in the hallway and had decided that they both needed to hear the contents of the owled letter.

Three times, his parents had said. Three kisses.

When a Veela finds his mate, the mate had to accept him three times for the bond to be accepted and finalized. Three kisses that cannot be forced, with Veela magic that cannot be fooled. The mate needed to accept the kiss, making clear her submission to the Veela claim.

For an instant he despaired, thinking it would be impossible for Hermione Granger to ever submit to him once, let alone three times. 

But then he remembered her kissing him back in that forest, her mouth moving over his, the soft sound of her pleasure in his ears. That was  _one_. And he remembered the shivering of her body as it trembled against his moments ago in that corridor, her hands in his hair making his skin tingle. That was  _two_.

His eyes had darted to hers, and he’d seen from her mouth that had dropped open that she was remembering the same things and was thinking the same thought that was suddenly running through his head repeatedly at full speed:  _once more_.

One more kiss. One more mind-boggling, breath-stealing kiss and they would be bonded.

It was a surprise to him that that thought didn’t scare him in the least. He’d spent seven years struggling to get the best of the curly-haired witch, and the thought of spending the rest of his life waking up to that same thrill every single day sent his heart racing. How silly of him to have thought he could leave her behind here in just the memories of his school days. If their recent interactions had told him anything, it was that he absolutely had to have Hermione Granger. Anything else was unthinkable.

He’d smiled at her, slow and predatory, and they’d spent enough years together that he knew she heard the promise that he didn’t say aloud. She’d paled and faced forward, and Draco had barely heard the rest of what Dumbledore had told him, distracted by the pulse he could see beating hard at her throat and the staggering desire he had to place his mouth just there.

It was only a matter of time. He would get his final kiss. The first of a thousand more once they’d bonded.

But first he had a battle to win.

The gossip about the Kiss that Scorched the School—named by Hufflepuff Army who were thrilled to come up with a phrase that could be abbreviated to KSS—was not the only gossip going around. Though each Army was restricted by strict confidentiality spells against revealing any strategy or tactics, gossip somehow managed to spread regardless. And rumor had it that Gryffindor Army had found a way to make a Totem out of one of their lieutenants.

Draco knew that there was only one witch brilliant enough to have made that discovery. And only one witch who would be allowed to play what would be a ground-breaking position in the history of the game, the position of Totem. And incidentally, it was the same witch that was the one witch he’d be able to Seek out anywhere in the land, water, or air.

If he was very lucky, she wouldn’t have realized this yet, and he would have the advantage just one time to get the jump on Gryffindor Army and lead his team to victory. All he would have to do was find his mate, wherever she was hiding with the Totem’s magical signature merged with her own, and get her back onto Slytherin territory.

His magic tingled with the challenge.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, unbelievably, he was losing. 

He was the only Seeker, as he’d convinced his army that they would only need one today. As always, they followed his orders immediately without question. The others had all spread themselves out as Chasers and Beaters and he’d taken an overly large contingent of them straight into the heart of Gryffindor territory.

As they were all extremely disciplined and incredible shots, the number of hexes they got off quickly decimated Gryffindors numbers until they'd been able to pull together some strategy to fend off the advancing Slytherins.

Draco’s plan had been to take them quickly and by surprise. He didn’t want to give Hermione any time to form a defense.

But though the Gryffindors were not as well-trained, they were brash and reckless and they fought back fiercely, unpredictable in their formations. He’d expected at least some of them to fall back and protect Hermione, their Totem, but they took her orders and fought alongside her like she was just another soldier.

A clever ruse, but they couldn’t fool him. He knew her too well. He’d studied her tactics, he’d played against her repeatedly. So he never swerved as he came straight towards her.

But what should have been an easy capture was getting harder and harder the longer the game went on. Potter and Weasley had long ago broken off with their own squads to chase down some of his retreating Beaters. But he refused to go back, blocking the hexes that were thrown at him by red and gold clad students whose faces he barely noticed, so intent was he on following his target as she retreated in the direction he could only assume Gryffindor’s base was.

"I know it's you, Granger!” he called out to her. “I know you're the Totem."

Her lips quirked up in a barely-there smile as she blocked his body bind and sent a stunning jinx at him that he dodged with agility. "Listening to the rumor mill are we, Malfoy? Couldn't be arsed to do any real intelligence?"

The small explosion Draco sent to her immediate right caused her to abruptly change directions as she ducked behind a tree.

Draco was hot on her heels, blocking her retreat and forcing her to take a new path. "I know you're the only one who could do it.” He shot a _Carpe Retractum_ at her that missed by a mile but succeeded in causing her to head further to her right. “And I know you wouldn't let it be anybody else but you."

He was forcing her back towards the territory lines, trusting that they had been moved, because he’d given strict instructions for his army to expend as much energy as possible to extend that one southern section of their territory far into the forest. Hermione was rapidly approaching the boundaries he'd planned for, and she couldn't know how close she was to danger. All he had to do was get her to step over the line, and then restrain her and send up the sparks with his wand.

His blood was humming with the chase.

"Then you also know it would be silly of me to let such an advantage be bandied about with the gossip,” she was saying, around her zigging and zagging, “and lose the surprise."

"Yes, how very careless of you," he noted absently, intent on flicking another herding jinx towards her.

But her answering smile was wide, too wide, and he abruptly had a sinking feeling in his gut. The confidentiality spells were supposed to prevent leaks, but there was a lot that could be done through casual denials and rhetorical questions about hypothetical subjects. Slytherins were the best at dropping false rumors and sending their opponents on wild goose chases. Gryffindors never did, they were far too straightforward for that kind of strategy, and you could spot a lie from a mile away.

But the look on her face was too smug. She was too assured for someone who was inches away from losing the battle, the Cup, and everything she'd been working towards for seven years. And where was everyone else? Was no one worried about their Totem, unguarded and wandering in the forest, engaged in battle with a dangerous Slytherin?

She must have seen the look on his face as he was piecing it together, because her eyes flashed at him and she laughed, causing his heart to skip a beat. She was having fun, she felt it, too. Of course, she still thought she was winning.

But her laughter as they fought and she dodged behind a tree, snapping a _Gelesco_ at him, told him that she knew, like he did, that they were meant to do this dance—to chase and seek, to push and pull, to challenge each other, to fight, to win and lose, in the sweetest possible way—for the rest of their lives.

He saw the moment her foot stepped over the line. The magic changed and inwardly Draco cheered because his team had gained even more ground than he'd anticipated. The startled look on her face was a tiny slip, but it confirmed that for all her big words she was vulnerable. She could only be worried if she was the Totem and knew she'd crossed into enemy territory. He knew his instincts hadn't been wrong.

It was his turn to grin as she cast an eye frantically at the sky, and then at the curious Muggle device on her wrist.

Draco knew she would be desperate, right at the cusp of winning or losing, and the same excitement thrummed through him. So he prepared for her attack, moving to press her farther behind the lines. She was Gryffindor, she'd fight like a hellcat.

When her wand came up, he moved automatically to block, but...was that her wand flying right at him? The small length of vine wood just missed his head as he dodged it and turned to scowl at her in confusion. Why would she just toss her weapon away?

By the time his head came back up, he had just enough presence of mind to retain his grip on his own wand when her body barreled into him, knocking them both to the ground.

The breath left his lungs in a whoosh as they hit the forest floor, his arms around her, blocking her fall. They'd fallen on the wrong side of the territory line, his magic told him she'd pushed them into Gryffindor territory.

She was already scrabbling to get away, trying to climb over him, but he held her fast, knowing it was only a matter of a few feet, and he could still win.  She had no wand, and he was bigger than she was, his Veela strength surging at the feel of his mate in his arms. He couldn't help it, he laughed in exhilaration even as her booted foot caught him in the shin.

"Merlin, Granger, watch it!" His voice held amusement as she struggled, and he took advantage of the moment she tried to regain some traction, to roll over her. And he kept rolling, his arms still locked around her, inexorably moving them towards that boundary, unheeding of the dirt that flew up as they twisted and struggled.

Her angry squeal told him she knew what he was doing. They must be close now, if his observations were correct. He gave a grunt and one last heave just as her arms closed around the back of his head and her mouth fused with his.

He was instantly overwhelmed as his body reacted to the contact. The sweet taste of her mouth, the intoxicating scent of her excitement, the feel of her body beneath his. The battle was forgotten as he immediately engaged in a new battle that was all tongues and teeth, hands and heavy breathing.

The last thing he’d been expecting was to end up grappling on the floor locked in a passionate embrace, though he had to admit that nothing had ever felt as right. Her kiss was a very welcome surprise, and an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.

He sucked on her lower lip, nipping at it, and the breathy moan she gave sent his temperature rocketing. He was burning up.

She grabbed his hair and fought him for dominance, her tongue stabbing into his mouth causing him to rock his hips into hers, desperate for the friction of her body. Her legs climbed up around his waist, tangled in their robes, and everything was so much fire and heat. She was under his skin, pounding inside of his chest, like a flame that was going to consume them both.

He sensed her magic, bucking against him the way her body was, and he instinctually reached for it, wrapping it around them both, merging it with his own until it was tight around them like a cocoon. Tighter and tighter he spun it, squeezing them together, and she only held him closer, her mouth devouring him, urging him onwards and upwards until they were both dizzy with the lack of air and the tension broke with a crack and a snap, like a lightning bolt that singed the air around them.

They finally separated, heaving great gasping breaths, and he stared down into her eyes with the strangest surge of love and tenderness and confusion. And their combined magic that flowed easy and soft like water around them.

She grinned up at him, and taunted, "You lost."

He was suddenly aware of the distant sound of fireworks going off in the sky that indicated the Totem had been captured, and the battle was over. Quickly, he brought his wand arm into view and they could both see the hawthorn tip sparking green, the last thing he’d done before he’d lost himself to her unexpected kiss on the Slytherin side of the battle lines.

As one they craned their necks to see what colors were in the sky.

"A tie?" he asked, trying to make sense of the red and green sparks that were hovering above the trees like Christmas lights on a field of bright summer blue.

She laughed, delighted. "We'll win on points, Malfoy. Because you charged in like a Gryffindor, all or nothing, and didn't rack up the points like you normally did. And Harry had everyone practicing their hits with the highest values, so they could get as many as possible on the way to stealing your Totem."

He didn't answer her, all too aware of how she was still lying under him, her legs comfortably cradling his body against hers, making no move to get up.

"Why'd you do it, Granger?" he asked, his face serious. "You knew there was only one kiss left."

The laughter faded a bit from her eyes, but they stayed soft as she gazed back at him. "I knew," she confirmed.

"Did you want to win so badly?"

A brilliant smile lit her face up again, pulling a reluctant answering smile from him. "Winning is very important to me, Malfoy. That's why I planned for the only win-win scenario I could think of." And she pulled him down again for another kiss.

Before all his thoughts shut down again, it occurred to him that even though he may have lost the Cup that day—and he was still going to wait on the points to be tallied before he was going to concede defeat—he felt remarkably like a man who had won something much, much more important. Win-win, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)


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